


1141 And All That

by Cerdic519



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 12th Century, Alternate Universe - Medieval, England (Country), M/M, Winchester (Hampshire)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-04
Updated: 2014-03-12
Packaged: 2018-01-14 13:02:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 5,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1267495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cerdic519/pseuds/Cerdic519
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean of Winchester is a blacksmith, living a quiet life in the old capital of Wessex, far removed from the dangerous world of Anglo-Norman politics. He has no idea how that world is about to intrude into his, nor how a certain captain in the queen's forces is set to both save his life and steal his heart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Lifesaver

**Author's Note:**

> This story is set around the Siege, Counter-Siege and Rout of Winchester, real events which took place in 1141, during the 'nineteen long winters' of King Stephen's reign in England. The events are as historically accurate as I have been able to make them, except the exact date for the battle of Wherwell is unknown. It took five months to write this little story, so reviews and kudos will be very much appreciated.

25th November, A.D. 1120  
   
Stephen of Blois was twenty-four years old, and in an enviable position for a third son of a fairly unimportant Gallic count. He had been knighted by his powerful uncle King Henry, and had subsequently acquired several holdings in the latter’s territories. He had money, titles, lands and a great future ahead of him. Though he was currently trying to come to grips with just how close he had come to losing that future, let alone how it had suddenly changed beyond all recognition.  
   
“Say that again!” he ground out.  
   
“It’s true, my liege!” the man said, still panting from his exertions in getting there. “The White Ship, lost with all hands, in sight of those on the coast. Certain it is there are no survivors. His Grace the prince is dead!”  
   
Stephen thought quickly. His uncle’s only son – well, the only legitimate one; the twenty or so bastards didn't count – dead and gone, which meant Henry King of England and Duke of Normandy had just one daughter to inherit his empire. A very unpopular daughter, whose high-handed attitude had justly earned her the nickname 'Empress'. And with the way most barons felt about a woman running the country, they would soon start looking round for a male alternative. Such as him.

First things first, though.

“Brionne, take this man to the kitchens and have him well fed”, he ordered. “And get me Lord Charles Novak.”

“Right away, sir!”

+~+~+

“How did you know?”

The count looked hard at the small man in front of him. The word ‘unprepossessing’ might well have sprung to mind, had not 'scruffy', 'unkempt' and ‘downright ugly’ been jostling for position in front of it.

This man had saved his life.  
   
“I was on the docks when they were loading, my lord”, the man said, wringing his hands nervously. “Prince William was handing out free beer and wine to everyone. It looked like an accident waiting to happen.”  
   
“And happen it did!” Stephen said sourly. “You have indeed saved my life, Lord Charles. Ask whatever you may, and I shall endeavour to grant it.”  
   
“I do not need anything myself, sir”, the man said shyly. “But perhaps one day I, or my sons, may have need to call on you. If you would honour this promise then, I would be grateful.”  
   
“That I shall do!” Stephen said firmly. He twisted one of the rings off his finger, and gave it to the clearly surprised man. “When you or your blood hand that back, I shall do everything in my power to repay you. You have my word.”  
 


	2. The Knives Are Out

June 25th, A.D. 1141

Dean was delivering a set of cutlery to the local tavern when he heard the news. He had remarked to the innkeeper that it was likely the Empress Maud was crowned by now, and the man had looked at him in surprise.  
   
“Haven’t you heard?” he asked. “It’s all round the town.”  
   
“What?” Dean asked.  
   
“She’s fled to Oxford!” the man said with gusto. “All she had to do was curb her temper until the crown was on her head, but she couldn’t even manage that. And what with her rival the queen pressing on the City's southern suburbs, the Londoners had had enough of her. So last night they rang the tocsin and drove her out!”  
   
Dean whistled in amazement. The country had been in turmoil for the past six years ever since Good King Henry had died, and his nephew Stephen had seized the throne before the daughter Henry had planned to succeed him could get to England. She had returned a few years later and ensconced herself in the West Country, and a state of siege warfare had persisted until early this year, when her forces had captured her rival at the battle of Lincoln. London, the largest city and traditional crowning-place for kings, had been reluctant to admit her, but she had eventually won the city over. Or at least, it had seemed that way.  
   
“And Bishop Henry?” Dean asked. “I bet he wishes he’d dallied a few weeks longer.”  
   
The imprisoned king’s younger brother was not only Bishop of Winchester but also papal legate, the Pope’s official representative in England. Stephen’s mishandling of some of the bishops had led his brother to offer only weak support however, and after Lincoln he had made it clear he thought the bishops, major landowners in their own right, should respect the judgment of God and side with the Empress. The two had met at Winchester just a few months back, and made a very public (it not very credible) peace.  
   
“Rumour is he did not go with her”, the innkeeper grinned. “I expect Bishop Henry is heading here, and if he is, the Empress will not be far behind!”  
   
Dean winced. He knew, because his smithy was the closest one to the bishop’s palace at Wolvesey in the south of the town, that the bishop had been covertly increasing his stock of weapons (many ordered from Dean, thankfully) and improving his defences. People as high as Henry of Blois did not survive for long in either Anglo-Norman or papal politics unless they were prepared for all eventualities. 

He checked the coins the innkeeper had given him, and hurried back to the smithy.


	3. Meeting At Camp

June 27th 1141  
   
Lord Castiel Novak frowned as he watched the bishop’s party approach. This was the man who had first supported, then abandoned, and was now (possibly) supporting his regal brother, Castiel’s own liege lord. Though with that liege lord currently held in chains in Bristol Castle, Castiel had pledged his support to Stephen’s wife, Queen Matilda, a far better general than the husband whose rashness in leading his own troops at Lincoln had led to his untimely capture four months back. But with the Empress having ruined, for the time at least, her chances of being crowned in the capital, there was still hope. Especially if the Bishop of Winchester could be brought back into play.  
   
His cousin and page Samandriel brought him a drink of water, and Castiel quaffed it down greedily.  
   
“Who is the weird-looking short man?” his cousin asked.  
   
“Someone who could probably have you beheaded for calling him either of those things, let alone both”, Castiel remarked dryly. “That is Lord Metatron, the King’s Chamberlain.”  
   
“He looks a nasty piece of work, sir.”  
   
Castiel smiled affectionately at his cousin. Normally any page venturing such a comment could expect to be cuffed into the middle of next week, and possibly find himself demoted to gong-farmer. But Castiel preferred having a servant who spoke his mind, and besides, they were far enough away from the nasty piece of… the Lord Chamberlain, anyway.   
   
“I wonder if the Empress knows of the bishop’s changing sides again?” Samandriel mused.  
   
“If she does not know within the next twenty-four hours, then she needs to find new intelligencers!” Castiel said brusquely. “Nothing travels faster than gossip, Alfie.”  
   
His page scowled at the nickname, but said nothing. Then a fanfare of trumpets announced the queen’s imminent arrival, and the two men scurried for position.


	4. Playing With Fire

June 28th 1141  
   
“It’s all over the town”, Sam said excitedly. “Bishop Henry met with the queen at Guildford yesterday, and is hurrying back here as we speak. And his steward has ordered another two dozen arrows from us.”  
   
“We’re in a tight spot here Sammy”, Dean pointed out, though inwardly smiling at his brother’s boyish enthusiasm. “The steward from the royal castle was down here yesterday, wanting to know if we were providing the bishop with extra more weapons. We're fortunate the bishop is smart enough to always order through third parties.”  
   
“Will there be a battle?” Sam asked excitedly.  
   
“More likely a siege”, his brother sighed, pumping the bellows to get the fire going. “And not until Earl Robert has tried his luck with the bishop, I’ll wager.”  
   
Earl Robert of Gloucester was the eldest of the late king’s many bastard sons, and his ennoblement to such a prestigious earldom had raised more than a few eyebrows. But he had proved himself a worthy lord, and had been one of the few to stand by his half-sister throughout, his castles in the west forming the bedrock of her territory. He had arrived in the town the day before, and had reportedly not been pleased to find the bishop absent.  
   
“The Empress would not dare lay a hand on the bishop, surely?” Sam asked with eyes wide. “He is the Holy Father’s man, after all.”  
   
Dean sighed.  
   
“Brother, she had slapped a king in chains already, so I doubt she would stop at a mere bishop”, he said with a smile. “The most important thing for little people like us is not to get involved in the arguments of big people like them. We should just keep ourselves to ourselves.”  
   
He had no idea when he said those words just how difficult that would prove to be. And how the activities of empress and bishop would turn his world in particular upside-down.  
 


	5. Green On Blue

July 30th 1141  
   
Dean had little time for those who believed in witchcraft or the supernatural – but on this particular morning he had the distinct feeling he was being watched. It was a fine summer’s day and normally he would have worked outside, but that uneasy feeling led his to abandon the open work area in front of the shop and withdraw to the stifling heat of the main room. He was working on some more arrows for the bishop when his brother entered the shop.  
   
Far too quietly. Dean looked up in surprise.  
   
“What’s wrong?” he asked, concerned.  
   
“Plenty!” Sam said gravely. “I’ve just heard news that the Empress is on her way to the town, and will be here tomorrow!”  
   
Dean whistled through his teeth. It was common knowledge that, immediately upon his return two days ago, Bishop Henry had been visited by Robert of Gloucester, and it had not gone well. The bishop's forces had made a half-hearted attempt to besiege the royal castle, and the Empress' imminent arrival was certainly to rescue her situation in the old Wessex capital.  
   
“There’s going to be trouble”, he remarked. “I think you should go and stay with Uncle Bobby.”  
   
Sam pouted. Robert Singer, their late mother Mary's brother, had recently retired from the king’s service, and had a house in the village of Wherwell, a few miles north-west of the town.   
   
“You want me to miss all the fun!” Sam sulked.  
   
“Trust me, there won’t be much fun when those two start butting heads!” Dean said firmly. “Besides, you’re only sixteen. It’ll be safer if you're there. I’ll take you there this evening, and we can hoard our massive wealth at Bobby’s house just in case.”  
   
“In case of what?” Sam asked, eyes wide.  
   
“In case the worst happens”, Dean said grimly.  
   
+~+~+  
   
He had shooed Sam off to his studies, and was back concentrating on the arrows when he realized someone had entered the shop. He looked up to see a youngish knight, clearly a king’s man from his badge, with ruffled hair and a pair of stunning blue eyes. He looked hard at Dean.  
   
“You are the one they call Dean of Winchester?” he said, in a surprisingly low growl for someone so young.  
   
Dean was suddenly all too aware that this man could probably kill him in less than ten seconds. He was also aware that certain parts of his anatomy were reacting to the stranger in a way he thought he'd put safely behind him. This was the twelth century after all, and such things were stamped on very heavily by a powerful Church. He swallowed nervously.  
   
“May I help you?” he asked courteously.  
   
The man looked at him keenly.  
   
“I am Lord Castiel Novak, servant of King Stephen and currently ‘on loan’ to his brother”, he said lightly. “I understand you have been working on some extra weapons for the defence of Wolvesey.”  
   
“I wasn’t aware there was even a siege”, Dean said, playing for time.  
   
The man looked hard at him.  
   
“You know as well as I do that the bishop and the Empress will cross swords soon”, he said flatly. “You ride to the village of Wherwell this evening.”  
   
Damn! He had obviously been eavesdropping on the conversation with Sam earlier.   
   
“Yes”, Dean said suspiciously. “What of it?”  
   
The man smiled.  
   
“Take care, Dean of Winchester”, he said. “The Empress will be in the town tomorrow, and Wherwell lies not far from her path south. I believe there is a famous nunnery in the village, so she may choose to step aside and pray there.”  
   
Dean looked at him, wondering why he was being given this warning.   
   
“I will be wary”, he said shortly.  
   
The man smiled again.  
   
“I will see you again, no doubt”, he said, before slipping out of the room as silently as he had arrived. Only once he had left did Dean let out the breath he didn’t even realize he had been holding in.  
 


	6. Gossip

July 31st 1141  
   
Castiel didn't normally drink beer (though in towns he had the small beer, which was safer than the water), but on returning to the bishop's castle, he sent Samandriel out for a flagon. The last thing he needed right now was a distraction, even if it was a strongly-muscled, green-eyed and decidedly beautiful distraction. 

His predilection for men was common knowledge amongst his colleagues, but then so too was the story about five men jumping him in London, acting almost certainly on the orders of a local priest, and all of whom he had left seriously wounded. It was an interesting tale, and one which made anyone with opinions about his sexuality keep them very firmly to themselves. It was, of course, inaccurate.

There had been six men.

+~+~+

The trip to Wherwell had passed without incident, although Uncle Bobby had made it clear he thought Dean would be wiser to join his brother out of the town for the trouble that was almost certainly to come. And on the last day of July, it arrived.  
   
“I saw her men scouting round the bishop’s castle walls earlier”, Dean told Brother Mark, who was collecting alms (and gossip) for Hyde Abbey.  
   
“I know”, he said grimly. “I presume your brother is safe out of town, Dean. You really should consider joining him.”  
   
“I need to keep an eye on the business.”  
   
The monk looked around nervously before drawing closer to the smith.  
   
“You have been a good friend to the abbey in the past, Dean, and I probably shouldn’t be telling you this, but Brother Precentor was up at the royal castle this morning, and he overheard them planning to tear down all the houses and businesses near the walls of Wolvesey, so they could more easily get at the palace.”  
   
“Surely they would not be so stupid?” Dean said, shocked. “This is still hostile territory for the Empress, and she had not dealt with the bishop yet.”  
   
“Nor can she”, Brother Mark said. “She summoned him to the castle this morning, but he sent back a reply saying he is ‘preparing himself for the meeting.’ But that particular storm will break very soon, mark my words.”  
   
He thanked Dean again for his alms, and shuffled off to the next house. Dean followed him out of the door and looked pensively down the road towards the castle walls. His shop was situated next to the river, on the corner of the High Street and the road leading up to the castle. He was surely far enough away not to have to worry – wasn’t he?  
 


	7. The Trap

August 1st 1141  
   
Brother Mark had, of course, been right. Early that morning the Empress’ men had marched down the High Street and had started demolishing any house they considered too near the castle walls of her rival. The city elders had immediately sent an angry delegation to the royal castle, and had predictably got short shrift from the Empress. Fortunately Dean’s shop was far enough back not to interest them, plus of course he was also probably spared because they had a lot of weapons that needed repairing. It looked like his luck was holding.  
   
For now, at least.

He set to work on his latest bunch of arrows, and tried not to think of tousled hair and impossibly blue eyes.  
   
+~+~+  
   
Castiel Novak was resting in a tent just outside the town of Novum Forum, ironically one of Bishops Henry’s new creations, about seven miles east of Winchester. The bishop had commanded him to go and find the whereabouts of the Queen’s army, which having secured London was making its way west to hopefully save him from the Empress’ forces. As Castiel had expected, he had found them in the fields between Henry’s new town and his country palace at nearby Bishop Sutton, and had reported events thus far in the town. He was now resting before returning to a city he suspected would be a lot harder to get into than out of.

Samandriel came up with a parchment.

“From the Queen”, he said, bowing. “New instructions.”

Castiel smiled and unrolled the parchment, reading it through twice before sighing heavily.

“What is it?” his page asked.

“She commands my attendance”, Castiel said, rising to his feet. “I must go.”

+~+~+

He found the Queen, an elegant woman in her mid-thirties, poring over a map of Hampshire.

“You have some knowledge of siege warfare. Lord Novak”, she said with a smile. “Come, what advice would you give a poor lady who faces battle?”

Castiel smiled, and looked at the map.

“I would block off five of the six roads out of the city”, he said after some thought. “All except this one, to Marlborough.”

“Why that one?” she asked at once. 

“Because you wish to tempt those besieged to try to break out, and this road leads vaguely toward the west”, he explained. “If they do make a break for it, they'll use up their best men in the attempt. Station a few scouts within sight of the city, and have them report to the units at Sutton and Stockbridge. They can move in from both sides and crush them like a nut!”

“Why not the other road?” she asked. “That leads directly west.”

“True”, Castiel said, “but the ground is wooded and hilly. An army forcing a path there could defend itself much more easily.”

“I like it”, she smiled. “And where do you think this encounter will take place?”

Castiel placed a finger on Sutton and another on Stockbridge, and drew them towards each other until they met. His eyes widened when he saw the name on the map. 

“Here”, he said. “The village of Wherwell.”


	8. Fire!

August 2nd 1141

Castiel had hoped to get back to Winchester early the following morning, but a further planning meeting with the queen's advisers delayed him, and it was past noon when he and Samandriel breasted the hill and looked down into the Itchen Valley and the city below.

A city which was burning.

Castiel turned quickly to his page.

“Go and inform the queen at once!” he said urgently. “Those idiots must have used fire-arrows, despite the town being a tinder-box.”

“What are you going to do?” Samandriel asked, his eyes wide with fear.

“There's someone I have to see”, Castiel said, turning and galloping off, his thoughts on a pair of stunning green eyes and a face full of freckles. A face whose owner lived far too close to the source of that fire....

He made sure to hide his badge before entering the town, and made it quickly to the forge. Mercifully it was not on fire, but most of the street leading up to the castle was, and it was clearly only a matter of time. He burst into the forge, and was relieved to see Dean busy gathering up his tools. The smith looked up at him in shock.

“You are safe!” Castiel gasped. “You ride to Wherwell?”

“I walk”, Dean said grimly. “If I can get through the cordon.”

“Come with me”, Castiel urged. “No-one will be surprised to see a lord with a servant.”

Dean stared at him in amazement.

“Why?” he asked suspiciously. “Why would you do that?”

“Because I like you, you idiot!” Castiel snapped. “Have you got everything?”

Dean continued to stare at him.

“You like me?” he said. “But why? I'm only a peasant....”

Somehow Castiel was across the room, and before he could object Dean found a metal collar around his neck. 

“I'll take it off as soon as we're in the clear”, Castiel promised. “Move!”

+~+~+

The town was ablaze, and Dean was horrified as they moved north to see that Hyde Abbey was also in flames. He hoped Brother Mark had gotten out all right. Castiel rode as fast as his new slave could run, and mercifully they made it out of the North Gate unchallenged. Once they were clear, Castiel dismounted and removed the collar.

“I am sorry to have done that”, he said, “but it got us past that checkpoint by the royal castle.”

Dean ran a finger round his neck, glad to be rid of the weight. Then he looked hard at the man before him. A couple of inches shorter than him, but a pair of honest and brilliant blue eyes, and the sort of hair to which a brush was clearly a thing unknown. A noble man in both senses of the word.

“You like me”, he said in wonder. 

“I have to get back to the queen soon”, Castiel said, “but we can ride together to Wherwell. Come on.”

Riding with the handsome stranger's figure pressed along his back made the short trip to the village seem far too short, in Dean's opinion. Once they were there, Castiel wished him well, kissed him briefly on the cheek, and rode quickly back towards the east. Dean stared after him wistfully.


	9. Barnyard Animals

Chapter 9  
August 7th 1141  
   
The village was a mess. The nunnery was doing its best, but it was clearly overwhelmed by the flood of refugees from the city. Although, Dean had been quick to note, that flood had dried up some twenty-four hours ago. 

It was a bizarre situation. Bishop Henry, predictably, had gotten himself to safety, but his garrison held on grimly at Wolvesey. Around them in the ruins of a now bitterly hostile city, the Empress' forces were besieging them. And around the outside of the city, the queen's armies were slowly tightening their own stranglehold, besieging the besiegers. No-one had arrived in the village since yesterday, which was a blessed relief, as had finding Brother Mark as one of the survivors. Dean had accompanied him to the nunnery at Romsey, which had sent an appeal for help as they too were flooded with refugees.

Dean was, however, curious as to one thing, and when a certain dark-haired man rode into the village that particular Thursday, he sought to slake his curiosity. Or would have done, had not Castiel led him to the nunnery's stables and promptly pushed him up against a beam, kissing the life out of him.

“Hullo!” Dean managed, when he was allowed to catch a breath.

The Lord smiled lazily at him.

“Hullo, to you, my favourite 'peasant'”, he grinned. “How goes it?”

“What are you planning?” Dean asked, getting straight to the point. “I know you're up to something. This is one of the main roads out of the city, yet no guards.”

Castiel's answer was to slip his hand into Dean's hose. 

“Stop trying to distract me!” the smith hissed.

“Do you really want me to stop?” Castiel quirked an eyebrow at him.

“Yes! No! I don't know!”

Castiel gave a dark chuckle.

“This is one of the two main roads that head west, Dean”, he said, smiling as the smith writhed beneath his gentle ministrations. “Of course it's being watched. But from afar. The Empress' forces have to make a break for it, and when they do, we'll be ready for them.”

“Oh”, Dean said, feeling rather stupid.

“Now, this barn has a rather interesting loft area”, Castiel observed. “I know this is a holy place, but needs must. Those clothes look like they need removing, Dean of Winchester. Now!”

Dean had never ascended a ladder so fast in his life.


	10. The Battle Of Wherwell

September 7th 1141  
   
The soldiers arrived with no warning. Castiel had been right about the escape attempt, but somehow a group of the Empress' forces had evaded the watchers and had made it to Wherwell. Fortunately they were more interested in turning the nunnery into a strongpoint on the road west than in the bewildered villagers. 

The war was suddenly very near again. Dean, Sam and Bobby barricaded the cottage door, and lay low.

+~+~+

Castiel was reading in his tent when his page arrived, panting heavily. 

“Alfie?” he asked, concerned. “What is it?”

“Church”, his page gasped. “I saw Roderick going there.”

“That Saracen you have a crush on”, Castiel grinned. “So?”

“He's supposed to be guarding the post overlooking the Marlborough road, sir”, Alfie said, still exhausted. “So I went up to the post, and it was abandoned. And the Empress' men are in Wherwell, settling in at the nunnery!”

Castiel sprang to his feet. 

“Where is Roderick now?” he asked.

“Probably still in church, sir.”

“Go tell him I want to see him before day's end”, Castiel said. “I'm going to inform the queen.”

+~+~+

The battle of Wherwell was short but bloody. The Empress' forces had had precious little time to prepare before the full weight of the queen's army fell on them, all but wiping them out; regretfully some of them tried to hide out in the nunnery, which the queen's forces then set light to. Though it was against his nature, Castiel slipped away to the house of Dean's uncle before the battle was finished. He knew that the queen's professional soldiers were not averse to helping themselves from friend or foe alike. 

He was just in time. Two Flemings were banging at the door, demanding admission, as he walked up.

“Hold!” he snapped. “You do not hurt our allies!”

The two men turned to glare at him. Both were taller than Castiel, and both had their swords out. 

Thirty seconds later, both were also writhing on the ground in agony.

“The camp medic may attend to you”, Castiel said sharply, noticing as he spoke that the door had been opened a crack. “Now be off, before I end you!”

Groaning and swearing, the two mercenaries stumbled away down the main road. Dean came hurrying out of the house.

“Did they hurt you?” he demanded. “Are you all right?”

“I'm fine, Dean”, Castiel smiled, noting Dean's brother and uncle eyeing him cautiously. “I can't stop; I have to get back to the camp and find out just how this all happened.” He eyed Dean longingly before following the fleeing Flemings down the road.

+~+~+

Castiel stared at the paper in front of him. Roderick had just left with Samandriel – Castiel had given his page the rest of the day off, the lucky dog! - and the Saracen had brought a copy of the note telling them to abandon their watch and attend church. He read it through and noted in particular the name at the end of it.

Lord Godefroi de Coutances.

Castiel frowned. That was impossible. The man in question was with the royal army, but he could not....

He needed to speak to Roderick again, and find out just who had brought this message. Not tonight, though – he didn't want to walk in on anything.


	11. What's In A Name?

September 14th 1141

The queen had ordered as many soldiers as she could spare to help salvage what they could from the ruined nunnery. Castiel had escorted some of the sisters to the priory at nearby Romsey the day before, and not wanting to return in what was now a torrential downpour, he had spent the night there. He was now returning to the camp.

Or he would have been, but as he crested the hill into the Itchen Valley, he could see a battle raging some way west of the city. Spurring his horse on, he almost left Samandriel behind as he raced to the southern gate, where he was relieved to see men sporting the Blesevin colours. 

“What happened?” he gasped out.

“She's gone!” one of the soldiers almost shouted. “Marched out this fine Sunday morning, trying to make it to the Test. The queen's forces let them get clear of the city, then fell on them!”

Castiel cursed his luck, as Samandriel finally caught him up. Then he rode though the city, pausing only briefly as he passed the wreckage where Dean's smithy had once stood. 

+~+~+

He reached Wherwell unchallenged, only to find his target was not there.

“They arrested him this morning”, Sam said anxiously. “They said they'd found a bag of the Empress' coin hidden in the shop – as if he's have been dumb enough to leave anything like that there! - and they think he was the one who allowed her forces to get here.”

“That's ridiculous!” Castiel said firmly. “Who were the men who told you?”

“Lord Metatron's goons”, Bobby said scornfully. “The sort who give hired thugs a bad name. Didn't speak a word of English, just gave us this sheet and dragged him off to the city.”

“I must go there”, Castiel said firmly. 

+~+~+

The queen frowned at the figure before her.

“So this is the man who cost some of my men their lives?” she said angrily. 

“Inded, my lady”, Lord Metatron said. “As guilty as sin.”

“Have you anything to say for yourself?”

Dean looked up fearfully.

“No, my lady”, he muttered.

Whatever she was about to say next was lost by a sudden commotion in the hall, and Dean was shocked when Lord Castiel strode up to stand beside him.

“My lord Castiel, this is not a good time”, the queen said coolly.

Castiel removed his gloves and twisted off a ring, which he handed to her.

“My liege and lady”, he said, his voice loud and clear, “twenty-one years ago your future husband gave that ring to my father, and pledged that if it were returned, he would grant whatever request accompanied it. Now that Earl Robert is captured, it is only a matter of time before your husband returns to claim his rightful throne. In his absence, I request you to honour his pledge.”

She raised an eyebrow at him.

“An oath is an oath”, she said. “Ask, and I shall endeavour to grant your request.”

“My lady, I must ask you to take a second look at the incriminating letter which this peasant was alleged to have written.”

“Alleged?” she asked. “Ink and similar vellum was found in the remains of his workplace. And he delivered arrows to the camp from the village on the day in question; one of the soldiers recognized him. Surely there is no doubt as to his guilt?”

Castiel smiled knowingly.

“The name at the end of the letter says otherwise”, he said. “Lord Godefroi de Coutances.”

“You are accusing Lord Godefroi?”

“No, my lady. But for all his time in England, that noble has taken the English name, Godfrey of Woolston. Only a Norman or Blesevin would use the French version of his name, and never a humble peasant.”

“But if not him, then who, Lord Castiel?” she said urgently. “I lost a number of unneccessary lives because of Wherwell. Someone must pay!”

“Indeed, someone must”, Castiel smiled. “Roderick?”

The huge Saracen lurched forward behind him, dragging a short blond man, whom he threw to the floor next to Dean.

“Allow me to present Gadreel, the real author of that infamous letter”, Castiel said. “A draft of which was found when Roderick searched his room recently. Since he has only recently crossed the Channel, he could not know about Lord Godefroi's change of name.”

The queen's eyes narrowed at the trembling figure before her.

“You did this?” she snapped. “Why?”

“Because his master told him to”, Castiel said airily. “And Lord Metatron, if you're thinking of going anywhere, you might care to remember that Roderick is highly skilled with the dagger he's currently manhandling. I doubt you'd make it two steps.”

The Lord Chamberlain snarled, and four of the queen's men immediately closed in on and grabbed him, before dragging him and his page unceremoniously away. The queen turned back to Castiel with a smile.

“You have indeed served us well”, she said. “And I still have to grant you something for the ring.”

“I would ask rather for two manors from Lord Metatron's lands, now they are fallen back to you”, Castiel said. “One for the smith here, falsely accused by his alleged betters, and one for my page, without whom Wherwell might have been an even greater disaster.”

“You are a true nobleman”, she smiled. “It shall be done.”


	12. Happy Christmas!

December 25th 1141

Castiel smiled as he spooned himself back into the body behind him. The paperwork had been bad enough, but convincing Dean that he truly wanted to be with him – that had been a struggle and a half. The former smith had been solidly convinced that all lords needed heirs to inherit, although Castiel had several nephews, and liked the eldest of them, Inias. Then Dean had been equally sure that a humble peasant should never aspire to be a lord's mate, and talking him out of that had been a worse battle than many Castiel had fought in. But now, on Christmas morning, the two could finally relax. Even better, the manor they had been given – Barnsbury, not far from Wherwell – was right next door to Sutton, where Samandriel and Roderick now lived. The four saw each other often, though at times like this, Castiel enjoyed it being just him and Dean.

Talking of which......

Dean's eyes shot open when he realized where Castiel's hand was heading, and he grinned lazily.

“Trying to tire me out, angel?” he rumbled.

“Yes”, Castiel whispered back. “And I'm determined to manage it. Happy Christmas, beloved!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's a wrap! Five months in the making, and my muse finally decided to wander back and let me finish. Thanks for reading.


End file.
